


Poetry Reading

by deanandsam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, sam and dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 09:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3763735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanandsam/pseuds/deanandsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a little book of poetry amongst the lore books on the shelves and thinks of Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetry Reading

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  
    I love thee to the depth and breadth and height  
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight  
    For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.  
    I love thee to the level of everyday's  
    Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.  
    I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;  
    I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.  
    I love thee with the passion put to use  
    In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.  
    I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  
    With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,  
    Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,  
    I shall but love thee better after death. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) 

 

Reverently Sam held the fragile book of poems in his hands. It was a first edition that had somehow found its way among the volumes on lore that occupied the shelves he'd been cataloguing. 

Although he'd read Browning's works before in English class, the words held a much deeper meaning now than when he was a moody teen whose greatest ambition was to run as far as he could from the world of monsters his father had forced him to be part of.  
Now he lived those words, each syllable Elizabeth wrote reverberated in his own heart. 

 

    “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height  
    My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight  
    For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.”

Did selling one's soul for another; being willing to die for that person over and over; ready to perform the most unspeakable acts to rescue him, to keep him safe from the evil that wanted to possess him, qualify as the quantity of love one could express?  
Sam didn't know.

 

"I love thee to the level of everyday's  
    Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. "

Did passing almost every hour, day and night, in a person's company reflect this love?  
He and Dean sitting together in the library, in the Impala, in grubby motel rooms, the bond between them stretched like a unbreakable thread, a thread whose presence both he and Dean were aware of but would never openly acknowledge with something as inexpressive as mere words.

 

"I love thee freely, as men might strive for Right;  
    I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise."  
   
He and Dean loved freely, but whether it was strictly pure or 'Right', Sam couldn't have said. Was needing and loving one's brother to the extreme ratio, appropriate or justifiable? Sam didn't have an answer, nor did he care.  
If they were to be condemned to burn in eternal flames, Sam reckoned it would be for the far worse things he and Dean had done, than because of their physical love.

 

" I love thee with the passion put to use  
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith."

Sam definitely loved with burning passion, though as for childhood faith, most of that had been ripped away by the horrors, cruelty and unfairness of the world of the supernatural.  
But he still had faith, only now it was wrapped up in sweaty tees, plaid shirts and torn jeans and it answered to the name of Dean Winchester.

 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose  
    With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,  
    Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,  
    I shall but love thee better after death. 

Sam huffed as he continued to read.  
Yes, there had been moments when he'd believed there were things he wanted or needed more than Dean. Big mistake.  
Funny how one's priorities changed. Now there was nothing else he needed or wanted OTHER than Dean.

He understood that the suffering they'd been through had united them more solidly than the rare good times, but if that suffering had brought them to this moment, if hell had burned so bright that it had opened their eyes to the only important thing, each other, then it had all been worth it.

 

“I shall love thee better after death,” he repeated to himself.

Sam wasn't on-board with that simply because he couldn't imagine loving Dean more than he already did, and what he'd been witness to in his trips to the after-life gave him no reason to change his mind.  
He loved Dean with a passion that overwhelmed him, that overwhelmed them both, so whether they were slated to end up in hell, heaven, purgatory on in some unknown dimension reserved solely for the brothers Winchester, nothing could modify his feelings.

 

He felt a familiar hand stroke his back, hesitating for a moment at the spot where Jake had stabbed him years ago, though the scar was no longer visible.  
Their bodies had been resurrected more than once and the flesh tended to come back to life unsullied by scars or blemishes. Useful he supposed.

“What's holding my nerdy little brother's interest?” Dean's voice murmured.

Sam leaned back into his brother's hand as it continued its journey of exploration down to his ass.  
”It's a first edition of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poems. It must have been slipped in here by mistake.”

“Huh,” Dean smiled.  
“How do I love you, let me count the ways, I love you to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach....” he quoted.

Surprised Sam turned to meet his brother's eyes, his lips twitching. “Didn't think you put much clout in poems, dude!”  
“That shows just how much you really know about me, little brother. I can spit out a ton of poems,” 

Sam rolled his eyes.  
“Don't you roll your eyes at me, Sammy, or instead of passing the next few hours practising my porn moves on you, I'll set up a recital and make you eat your words about me and poetry.”

Dean pressed his body against Sam's, letting him know by the hard length of his cock just how ready he was to take Sam to the heights of pleasure.  
Sam swallowed. Maybe the poetry could wait but his curiosity was aroused. 

He'd hold Dean to that poetry recital, just not right now.  
And as their lips came together, all other thoughts vanished, though Sam was still lucid enough to place the little book gently on the shelf before winding his arms around his big brother.

The End.


End file.
